


Lifeline

by xCake



Category: The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries & Related Fandoms, The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drug Use, F/M, Mental Health Issues, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, This will be a very dark journey, Trigger Warnings, Withdrawal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-01-24 02:22:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18562003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xCake/pseuds/xCake
Summary: The syringe in your hand clattered to the ground as your head lulled back, allowing you a full view of the dark sky from your place on the abandoned rooftop.You were broken, and tonight was the end.[ eventual Reader x a literal mess of Mikaelsons, check the tags! ]





	1. Chapter 1

The sky was black, with a spattering of sparkling stars and the fullest, brightest moon you’d ever seen. While the concrete against your back was cold, you felt anything but, even as the night's cool breeze blew through your hair.

No, you felt alright.

Better than alright.

The syringe in your hand clattered to the ground as your head lulled back, allowing you a full view of the dark sky from your place on the abandoned rooftop.

You were high. For the umpteenth time, you were high, albeit still blissfully aware of your demons. This would be the very last time you shot up, for you just couldn’t do it anymore. Your bills were overdue, you'd just lost your fourth job in six months, and worst of all, you couldn’t function properly, not anymore. Your parents were dead, and your only remaining family - your older brother - just happened to wish that you were.

You were broken, and tonight, it would end. You'd grant his wish at last. Life just wasn't worth living anymore.

With shaky hands, you pulled yourself over the railing, staring down at the distant street below. The headlights of the cars speeding along eighteen floors down seemed to sparkle just like the stars overhead. It was mesmerising, the flurry of activity even so late at night. Bourbon Street was always busy, of course, with every soul upon it so full of life and purpose. Every soul except for yours.

You weren’t sure how long you stood there, gripping that cold metal railing. All you had to do was let go, and it would be over. Just let go. But you found that you couldn’t, no matter how miserable you knew you would be when your mind returned. Right now, you could remember all of your troubles, but you didn’t feel any kind of way about them - just a perfect, drug-induced euphoria. It was unfortunate to know that when you came down, that euphoria would fade, and you’d be longing for death once again.

You just had to jump. 

One hand fell away from the railing, and you stretched out your body further over the empty expanse of nothing. Your breaths came out sharp and heavy as the heroin and adrenaline coursed through your veins and you inched closer and closer to your demise.

“Let go,” you whispered to yourself in a pathetic kind of pep-talk. “Just do it. It’s easy.”

“Is it?” came a voice from behind you, soft like velvet, startling you nearly enough to actually let go. Instead, you reacted in the opposite way: in an instant and with a sudden surge of strength, you yanked your body back against the railing, the cold metal biting harshly into your spine. Your knuckles went white as all ten of your fingers once again tightly wrapped around it.

“Yes,” you said breathlessly, not looking away from your fate awaiting you below. “It will be.”

A dead silence followed your admission, long enough that you shifted to finally take a look at the mysterious stranger who'd joined you on the empty rooftop. Your breath immediately hitched as you took him in. His short brown hair was thoroughly mussed from the evening breeze, and his eyes were a rich chocolate, dark and full of some kind of mystery you wanted to solve. The neat, immaculate suit he wore was a stark contrast to your own unkempt clothing, black skinny jeans ripped in the knees and a old pair of Doc Martens. Hanging loosely on your small frame was a red and black plaid flannel shirt, the sleeves rolled up just enough to expose the fresh track marks on your arms.

“If it’s so easy,” he began in a casual tone, and you watched as his eyes trailed from your bare arms to your face, “then, first, won't you tell me why you want to—?” And then he nodded down at the traffic below, needing no further explanation.

He must have seen the evidence of your drug usage, if the pitiable look in his eyes was any indication. Feeling a flush of shame creep up your neck, you turned back to the nothingness in front of you, your voice cracking as you told him, “No.”

“Will another minute or two make a difference?” He moved closer, then, coming to stand right beside you on the other side of the railing. His arms came to rest against the railing as he leaned on it, the soft cloth of his sleeve brushing against your knuckles. “Please. Indulge me.”

You bit your lip, angry with yourself and with him because he was right.

“Tell me why, and then I’ll let you go.”

A shiver went through you at his words, smooth like silk and laced with authority - he would _let_ you. You knew you didn’t need his permission, but for some stupid reason you still wanted to hear him say it. You wanted someone to tell you that it was okay to take that final leap.

Swallowing thickly, you hesitantly did as he asked. It was hard to open up, at first, and then suddenly you found yourself spilling all of your troubles to a literal stranger.

You told him about your money troubles, and about your broken family. Your parents were dead because of you – they’d been on their way to pick you up from your latest stint in rehab, when they got in a car accident due to the wet roads and stormy weather. Not only that, but you’d ruined your relationship with your older brother, too; he still lived where you and your parents used to, Small Town, USA, states away. The last straw had been when you stole from him to get high during the week of your parents’ funeral. You’d had mental health issues your entire life, and nothing had ever helped, so you self-medicated the only way you knew how.

Your new companion listened patiently, even as your body was wracked with sobs. A comforting hand came to rest on your shoulder, and then somehow you ended up on the safe side of the railing, ugly crying into the starched fabric of his pristine dress shirt. Your makeup ran, without a doubt leaving stains: yet another thing to add to your endless list of mistakes, but he didn't seem to care. Instead he held you gently, stroking your hair as he whispered sweet nothings into your ear, sweet beautiful lies like, "It'll be alright," and, "You aren't alone."

The sound of his deep voice coupled with the feeling of his breath against your ear sent you reeling. You desperately wanted to believe him. 

"Thank you," you breathed, finally pulling away just enough to look up into his eyes where you could see yourself reflected from the moonlight. Black streaks of misery and mascara trailed down your cheeks to rough, chapped lips, red and swollen from the endless abuse - biting - you put them through. Your hair was a mess, your face was flushed, and your eyes were red-rimmed and glassy.

A beautiful disaster. You were very clearly not sober, even if your high was slowly fading.

The warmth of his embrace contrasted sharply with the chill of the wind against your wet cheeks, and you shivered, finally feeling the cold after being outside for what felt like hours. When he wrapped his jacket around your shoulders, you took a step back, the realisation of what you had just done finally sinking in. You’d gone and spilled your life’s story to a stranger, and here he was, taking care of you so well just like people like him always did, people so perfect and put together. You hated being treated so kindly when you didn't deserve a lick of it - but, at the same time, you craved it. You wanted to feel loved, and the man in front of you did a very good job of that - even if it was all a lie. 

You held his jacket tightly around yourself as you looked back upon the bustling city below. Your desire to jump had faded along with your high. You’d shot up on this rooftop so that you’d finally have the courage to end it all, and now, again, you couldn’t bring yourself to. Worse still was that you couldn’t think clearly with the smell of him overloading your senses, a heady mix of cinnamon and musk.

“Go.” At the sound of his voice, your eyes snapped back to him and he gestured to the other side of the railing. “I won’t stop you. Although I would like to know your name, first, if that's alright.”

You pressed your lips in a thin line, not wanting to admit that you no longer had the courage to do it. Your fingers gripped the cool metal of the railing again, but you didn’t pull yourself over; instead, you gave him your name. You'd already exposed your soul to him, so what else did you have left to lose? 

He said your name once, as if testing the feel of it on his tongue, before he added, “I’m Elijah.”

“Nice to meet you,” you responded automatically, before you snorted derisively at how stupid it was to say with what you were about to do. “It's a shame we've only met now. I think I would have liked to know you, Elijah.”  

He let out a soft hum of acknowledgement, and for a few moments the pair of you just stood there, appreciating the silence. The night was quiet, save for the distant sounds of traffic down below and the whistling of the winter wind. As the seconds passed, an unspoken truth started to permeate the air: you weren't going to jump. 

Another shiver went through you from a particularly cold gust, and you studied his profile, wondering why the hell he would want to spend his time here, talking you down from the ledge, instead of doing something - anything - else. That was when he caught your gaze, and in his eyes danced not the pity or judgement you expected to see but a dark sort of admiration, like you were a riddle just waiting to be solved. Within moments, you found yourself lost in a trance, enraptured by everything that he was and everything you wanted him to be.  

He spoke again, softly, but his words reverberated in your ears as he compelled you. "Go, lovely girl. Be happy.”

Even though he’d given you the choice to jump, you walked away. Your hand had just come to rest on the doorknob of the stairwell door when he called your name, again, and when you turned back to him, he was already right in front of you.

Then he compelled you again, this time to forget.


	2. Chapter 2

When you woke the following afternoon, you felt like you’d been hit by a truck. You couldn’t remember a thing from the day before, not where you’d gone, nor what you’d done or even how you’d ended up back in your own bed. Judging by the fresh tracks on your forearm, you’d shot up again. That wasn’t a surprise. It certainly made sense that you couldn’t remember.

The real mystery was how you’d ended up with some random guy’s suit jacket. When you checked the label, you found that it was an Armani. Jesus, the thing was worth more than your rent. Holding it up to your nose, you inhaled, taking in the oddly comforting scent of cologne. The smell unfortunately didn’t spark a single memory, but for the first time in years, you felt like a weight had been lifted from your chest.

You felt hope.

The feeling was short-lived, however, because once night fell, you needed another fix. This time it wasn’t because you were miserable – mentally, anyway – but because your body was a complete wreck. The winter weather certainly didn’t help at all, the cold thoroughly seeping into your bones as you walked along Bourbon Street to your favourite nightclub, The Room, to score. You'd tried to resist the temptation, but predictably you failed.

You’d dressed more appropriately tonight, with a black beanie atop your head and a warm leather jacket wrapped around your body. Some part of you must have recalled that you’d been freezing cold last night. It was a mere scrap of memory compared to the events that must have unfolded, but maybe in time you’d remember more.

A sudden call of your name caught your attention, and you looked over to see your good friend Josh waving at you from across the street. After checking both ways, you crossed over to say hello. It had been a few weeks since you’d seen him last, but that wasn’t really unusual. He liked to party just as much as you did. 

“How are things?” you asked him with a grin, holding out your hand for a fist bump.

“Oh, you know, the usual.” He bumped your fist with his, and then you both made an exploding motion paired with some ridiculous sound effects like you always did. Laughing at how stupid you both were, he added, “Hey, you seem good. Ish.”

You shrugged, shoving your hands into your pockets. “Yeah, things are looking up for me. I must've gotten some last night.”

Josh gave you a mock-surprised expression. “Oh? Do tell.”

You shook your head, smiling, and held out your crooked elbow to him. You’d both been heading in the same direction, so it made sense to walk together. “You know I’d give you _all_ the dirty details if I could remember.”

He snorted, linking his arm in yours as you started to walk. “Wish I could say I don’t get it, but, well, you know me.”

That was when you remembered the expensive suit jacket you’d forgotten at home, the only link to your activities the night before, and you mentally cursed. You’d been planning to pawn it tonight for some extra cash. Oh well, you could just do it tomorrow. Now that Josh was here, you knew he'd cover you for the evening and to further satisfy his curiosity, you offered him the only detail you knew about your mysterious would-be lover: “He wears a suit. Armani. It’s weird, right?”

“Definitely weird,” Josh agreed. “Not your type at all.” Even weirder was the fact that some guy who could afford Armani would be interested in _you_ , the junkie that you were, but neither you nor Josh touched on that. Instead, he ventured, “What are your plans for tonight? The Room?”

You frowned. “Am I that obvious?”

He knew as well as you did that The Room was one of the best places in town to get a fix, and he gave you a look – _the_ look. It was Josh’s signature judgemental look that you absolutely despised. “You’re kind of… fidgety.”

Josh’s observation caught you off-guard. You hadn’t realised it at all. A quick look down at yourself confirmed that your fingers weren’t in your pockets anymore, but toying absently with the zipper of your jacket.

“I’m doing okay,” you reassured him, sticking your hands back into your pockets. “Just jonesing a little.”

“You’ve gotta stop with that shit. Just drink yourself to death like I do.”

“I would,” you mused thoughtfully, “Except I’m broke, and alcohol is even more expensive than my, uh... hobby.”

“But safer,” he reminded you. “Not a whole lot, but still. I worry.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” you told him again, a bit more defensively this time, and you winced at how harshly it came out. Maybe he was right, that you did need to stop. The Room was just up ahead, now, so you suggested, “Buy me a drink and maybe I’ll think about it.”

Josh rolled his eyes as you entered the nightclub together. He'd heard your promises before.

This time, however, you actually meant it.

 

 

A few hours passed and you were absolutely trashed. Whatever plans Josh must have had – if any – had disappeared in favour of partying with you like old times. You both drank so much that anything else just went down like water, and thankfully it distracted you from your next fix.

Now it was around three in the morning, and the two of you were stumbling down Bourbon Street again. Upon leaving The Room, you’d first been considering a pub crawl, but you were both pretty wasted so instead you went to a nearby park to cool off. 

“Hey,” Josh slurred, flopping down on a park bench. “Why do you do it?” 

You half-stumbled, half-fell down into the empty spot next to him, and somehow your head came to rest in his lap. You peered up at him suspiciously. “Do what?”

“Shoot up.” When he felt you stiffen, he asked lightly, “Isn’t this fun enough?”

Feeling defensive, you pulled up your sleeve to show him the red welts on your arm. “What, this doesn’t look fun to you?”

Josh frowned at your tone, eyeing the marks for a moment before he gave you a concerned look. “Doesn’t it hurt?”

“Sure, it does." You dropped your arms back onto your stomach. “But the rush… It’s so _good_ , Josh. It makes me feel alive.”

Josh studied your face for another moment before he shrugged. “Okay. Your funeral.”

"Ha, maybe.” 

A couple of minutes passed in silence as you both looked up at the dark sky. The moon was still so full and bright, and the stars glimmered beautifully. It was unfortunate that thick, fluffy clouds obscured a large portion of them tonight; it looked like it might rain. You hated the rain. 

“Wanna see something cool?”

At Josh's sudden question, your eyes shifted from the moon to his face, and your brows furrowed when he bit into his wrist. “What are you—”

Then he pushed his wrist against your mouth, and you couldn’t help but cough down a couple mouthfuls of his blood, unable to push him away. He was too strong, not quite the Josh you knew.

In an instant, the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end and your entire body began to flush and tingle. When he pulled his wrist away, you sputtered angrily, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “What the hell was that?”  

He gave you a sheepish grin and nodded to your arm. “Look.”

You watched as the red marks on your forearm began to slowly heal, and then they faded into nothing, leaving clear, unblemished skin behind. First, you rubbed your eyes blearily, thinking that you might have been hallucinating; but when your arm stayed fully healed you realised that it wasn’t a hallucination.

That was when you shot straight up off of the bench, screeching, “What the _fuck,_ Josh?”

“Surprise,” he said, holding his hands up defensively, like you were about to hit him.

Predictably, you shoved him hard in the chest, slamming him into the backrest of the bench as you hissed, “When were you turned?”

“When—holy shit, you know?”

Crossing your arms, you let out an irritated sigh. “It’s kind of hard _not_ to know when you’ve got witchy friends in the Quarter. They're all basically under house arrest, thanks to your kind.” 

"Yeah, no, that's got nothing to do with me." At your skeptical look, he added, "Promise.”

You eyed him for another moment, and when you decided that he was being honest, you slowly, hesitantly took a seat next to him again. Your body was tense as you sat yourself on the edge of the bench, this time, ready to run at a moment's notice.  

"Things were already pretty bad by the time I was…" He paused and shook his head. "It's been pretty lonely, you know? I miss the sunlight."

"No wonder you're so pale," you teased. When he gave you a sad smile, you bumped his shoulder with yours. "Some of them can go out during the day, right? So why don't you?"

"They've all got daylight rings. Gotta be high up on the food chain to get one."

You made a soft sound of acknowledgement, before a drop of rain landed on your cheek.

"Of course it's raining," you grumbled, getting back onto your feet. Well, this conversation had been enlightening - and sobering. Another drop landed on your forehead, and you offered Josh your hand. "I'll see what I can do."

When he took your hand, you pulled him up. He held onto your hand for a moment longer than necessary, and gave you a wary look. "Be careful, okay? Don't get yourself killed." 

You grinned. "Hey, you know me."

Josh grimaced, slinging a casual arm around your shoulders as the pair of you left the park and took cover under a shop awning. That was the problem – he _did_ know you, and you were anything but careful.


	3. Chapter 3

The shrill sound of an obnoxious ringtone ripped you out of what was once a peaceful slumber.

You blearily fumbled with your cell phone in an attempt to send the call to voicemail, but instead you accidentally hit the 'answer call' button. Even without holding the handset up to your ear, you could hear the loud, irate voice of your girlfriend start on you for not calling her the night before.

"Bloody hell, say something, would you? And _do_ spare me your awful excuses."

You dropped your phone on the pillow next to your head and shut your eyes again, already feeling a headache coming on. "What time is it?"

"It's morning," she hissed at you on the other end. You squinted at the phone again to confirm that it was, indeed, morning. Half past seven, in fact. "And where, pray tell, have you been?"

"Out," you responded dryly, draping an arm over your eyes to keep out the bright morning light streaming in through the curtains. You were in no mood to fight with her. "With Josh. I'm home now."

"Oh, good, you're home now. Would you like to know where I am?"

You sighed. "Okay, sure. Where are you?"

"Your apartment," she told you, "and you are absolutely _not_ home, darling, so let's try that again, shall we?"

Immediately, your eyes shot open. No, upon second glance you didn't recognize the maroon pillowcase upon which sat your phone, and when you yanked back the covers, you paled at the sight in front of you: bodies, too many to count, littered the floor next to the bed. It was their blood that stained the originally white sheets such a deep red.

You swallowed thickly and rasped into the phone, "I'll be home soon."

Then you ended the call, and when she tried to ring you back, you switched your phone to silent.

You had no idea where the hell you were, and worse still, how any of this happened. The last thing you could remember was Josh walking you to the stoop of your apartment building.

 

 

There was no moment better than the present for you to appreciate the fact that you now knew that Josh was a vampire. He was just a quick phone call away, and like always, he didn’t mind helping you out of a bind. Unfortunately, he didn’t quite seem to comprehend exactly how many dead people were in the creepy old house until he actually arrived and found you pacing back and forth in the kitchen, leaving behind a bloody trail of footprints in your wake.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen such a gruesome scene before – except, well, you hadn’t. Not in reality, anyway. Your dreams were pretty terrible on most nights, so of course the _one_ night in recent times that you’d actually slept well _,_ your nightmares had played out in real life instead.

“I thought you said there were a couple of bodies,” Josh began, staring in morbid amazement at the pile of corpses. “Not a baseball team.”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “I lied.”

At your unnervingly calm response, he eyed you warily. “How are you not freaking out?”

“I don’t know,” you told him honestly, chewing your lip in frustration. “I remember walking home with you last night, and then…” You frowned. “I woke up here.”

After you’d gotten over the shock of your current predicament, you’d somehow managed to figure out where you were by peering out the large, decorative windows. It was a rich neighbourhood, judging by all of the old colonial-style houses down the block, and a quick look out the front door gave you an address.

You’d somehow ended up in the Garden district, leagues away from your apartment in the Quarter.

“Do you think you were compelled?”

At Josh’s question, your brows furrowed. “What?”

“If you don’t remember, you might have been compelled, yeah? That’s the only other explanation.” That was when Josh crouched down to study a tattoo on one of the corpses’ wrists. It wasn’t a very distinctive one, you noted; just an infinity symbol. Those were all the rage these days. “I remember walking you home, too. You weren’t that drunk.”

 “Well, that’s comforting, Josh, except I don’t know what you mean by ‘compelled’.”

Josh dropped the dead girl’s wrist and stood, again, before looking at you strangely. “You know about vampires, but not about compulsion? Man, you need some better friends.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, not particularly pleased that he was talking shit about your witch friends. He rolled his eyes.  

“It’s basically, uh… mind control. Kind of. Here,” Josh explained, stepping closer to you. When his eyes met yours, you suddenly felt entranced by him, unable to do anything at all, let alone look away like you so desperately wanted to all of a sudden. Your body almost felt frozen in place, until he spoke again, softly, “Touch your nose.”

When your hand moved on its own, your finger coming to rest on your nose just like he told you to do, your eyes widened in fear. You couldn’t control your body.

“Now touch your ear.”

And as hard as you tried to resist, you still brought your hand to your ear.

“Josh, stop it,” you pleaded, your voice wavering. No matter how much you trusted him, you didn’t like this. It was terrifying, not being able to control yourself no matter how hard you tried. If Josh was about to do this so easily, what would happen if some other vampire decided to make you their toy?

Josh held his hands up in a show of surrender, and then, suddenly, you could move again.

“What the fuck was that?” you bit out, giving him an angry shove.

“That’s compulsion.”

“Yeah, well, it sucks.” You briskly rubbed your upper arms as if to warm them, but you weren’t cold; you just needed to feel like you could control yourself again. It was such a bizarre, unsettling feeling, one that you knew certainly wouldn’t go away anytime soon. “So some dickhead vampire could, uh, _compel_ me to forget, and I would?”

“Yeah, basically.”

You let out a soft hum of disapproval in response.

Josh picked up another dead girl’s arm, then, and when he turned the underside of her wrist toward you, you saw the same infinity symbol sitting there.  

“That’s not good,” you said uneasily. It was a common tattoo, but not _that_ common.

“No,” he replied, letting her arm drop back to the floor. “It’s not.”

 

 

After Josh helped you clean up the mess – in broad daylight, thanks to his creepy compulsion trick – and you’d stolen some god-awful clothing from the house to change into, you finally made your way back to your apartment.

Your keys jingled noisily in the lock. When you dropped them, you let out a groan and stooped down to pick them up.

The front door of your apartment was yanked open before you could try the lock again. In the doorway stood your lovely, albeit furious, girlfriend.

While you’d been together for the last two months, neither of you was particularly serious about the relationship. You were something between friends with benefits and exclusive, but that didn’t mean she didn’t worry. You’d given her plenty of reason to, after all.

You pressed your lips together in a grim line and greeted her casually, “Bekah.”

Rebekah was, as always, a vision, her long blonde hair falling over her shoulders in waves. She wore a soft grey sweater, along with a pair of dark-washed jeans. Unsurprising was the fact that her feet were bare; considering the time, she would have been waiting here awhile for you and she’d already left her leather boots in the foyer.

The two of you were almost polar opposites: she was beautiful, delicate, the single ray of sunlight in your dark, stormy world.

When Rebekah saw the distressed look on your face, she didn’t say a word as cross as she was with you. Instead, she stepped aside so that you could come in, but you caught her off-guard by wrapping your arms around her neck. Then you finally broke down.

The entire time you sobbed into her neck, she held you in a comforting embrace and gently stroked your hair, whispering soft, soothing words into your ear, sweet things like, “It’s alright, love,” and “Let it all out, I’m right here.”

At first, you tried to explain everything to her through your tears, but she was patient and let you take all the time you needed to calm down. As your sobs began to subside, she gently led you to the sofa. Once you were seated comfortably with a warm knit blanket over your lap, she went to the kitchen to make you a cup of tea.

It was a small comfort, hearing the familiar sounds of Rebekah boiling the kettle and the gentle clinking of her teaspoon against glass as she stirred through your preferred amounts of milk and sugar. She returned shortly thereafter with two mugs, one for each of you. You accepted yours gratefully as she took a seat beside you on the sofa, curling her legs under her.

“Bekah,” you started again, your voice rough from crying. Your first thought was to tell her everything, but then it hit you that she was human, too, like you. You didn’t want to scare her by telling her about all the creatures lurking in New Orleans. She was a normal person, and normal people would have gone to the police about what you’d just witnessed. Clearly you weren’t normal, because instead of doing exactly that, you had instead called your vampire friend to help you dispose of some corpses. When you spoke again, you willed your voice not to waver this time. “I’m so sorry. I should have called you last night.”

Rebekah placed a gentle hand on top of your own and squeezed gently. “You’re bloody right you should have. Now tell me what happened.”

God, you didn’t want to lie to her, but you didn’t have much of a choice. You couldn’t tell her the truth.

“Josh and I drank too much, and I wound up passing out at his place,” you explained hurriedly, making things up as you went. “I wasn’t planning on that at all yesterday, but then I ran into him on Bourbon Street, and he wanted to catch up, and things just… spiralled. I’m sorry for making you worry.”

“That doesn’t explain why you were so upset,” she said plainly, looking quite unimpressed even though you knew, deep down, that she appreciated your apology.  

You felt your cheeks flush, having been caught off-guard by her comment. You hated to lie, especially to her, because one little lie always turned into a web of them as was happening right now. “I just… I really hate it when you’re mad at me, you know? I was worrying the whole way home, and my phone died, so I couldn’t call you, and—”

Rebekah’s soft lips met yours, then, effectively putting an end to your bumbling excuses. Her hand came up to caress your cheek as her mouth expertly worked yours, lighting a fire within you in an instant. Her tongue trailed along your bottom lip, and you parted your lips for her, allowing her to dominate your mouth in exactly the way she so seemed to enjoy.

Then she pulled away, leaving you breathless and wanting, your disaster of a morning quickly forgotten.

“I may be tempted to forgive you,” she drawled, her fingers teasing the hem of the plain black tee shirt you’d acquired this morning, “ _if_  you make it up to me.”

“I’ll do my best,” you breathed, leaning in to kiss her again.

**Author's Note:**

> Suicide Prevention Hotline (USA): 1-800-273-8255 | Lifeline Australia: 13 11 14 | [Other Countries](http://ibpf.org/resource/list-international-suicide-hotlines)
> 
> Please don't hurt yourself. You are loved.


End file.
